Life of Scott McCall
by MadalineGrace
Summary: This is just a collection of one shots about my favorite teen wolf, Scott! All will be hurt/comfort and Scott centric. Some episode tags, some original ideas! As always, I own nothing but the plot that I came up with. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey there! I'm Madaline and, maybe I'm the only one, but I feel like Scott never gets enough love on this site. I'm here to change that. While I love all the wonderful characters on Teen Wolf, Scott has been my favorite since the start. Since I am a lover of all things hurt/comfort related, that is what my stories will focus on. I don't write slash, but only because I like to stay as close to what I feel is cannon as possible. If ya'll like what you're reading, let me know! Wanna see something on here? I'm open to suggestions. This will be a collection of one shots, probably with a lot of episode tags. I hope you all enjoy!**

 **Summary: This is a tag to 3x17 ("Silverfinger") Just my thoughts on what the aftermath of Scott's encounter with Oni was like.**

Those eyes. That searing, soul penetrating gaze. It felt as if the breath had been stolen right from his lungs. As the Oni's stare bore into him, Scott felt a coldness grip him, seizing his body in its grip. When it had seen all it had come for, the Oni left him with a fast flick of its finger behind his ear before dissolving into blackness. Before he could register what had happened, the floor was rushing up to meet him. Sounds around him were muted, something he hadn't experienced since the bite. He was paralyzingly weak. With what little strength he had, Scott dragged a shaking hand up to his head and felt the tender skin behind his ear where the Oni had left its mark.

"Scott!" A voice called from a million miles away. He was freezing, getting colder every second, and yet he couldn't summon the energy to shiver. His thoughts drifted to Kira. He hoped she was okay.

"You're gonna be okay." The voice said. It was closer now, but still soft, as if he was underwater. "Scott. Scott, look at me. You need to breathe." Sluggishly, Scott's brain realized that the voice belonged to Derek. Strange, he thought. Why would Derek be telling him to breathe?

"Derek, he's freezing." Another voice commented. Each word was laced with barely suppressed panic. Ethan, his brain supplied. Or, maybe, Aiden? He could never tell.

"I know. We need to trigger the healing process. Aiden, help me hold him down. This is gonna hurt him. Ethan, make sure you get her warm. Whatever you have to do." Scott listened to Derek's words with a sort of detached interest. Trigger the healing process? He didn't understand what –

Pain. It exploded in his arm and spread like fire. He gasped in rasping breaths, feeling his claws emerge. White noise droned in his ear so loud that it nearly drowned out all other sounds. He continued to draw in shallow, ragged breaths, reminding him of all of those asthma attacks a lifetime ago. Stiles had always been there to help him through…

"Scott, just breathe. Nice and slow. Can you do that for me?" Derek's voice broke through the noise, grounding him. Slowly, Scott felt himself come back. Still panting, he groggily opened his eyes to reveal the fuzzy outlines of Derek and Aiden. Derek had a steadying hand on Scott's chest.

"Kira…" he breathed, too exhausted for a full sentence. Derek understood the unspoken question.

"She's okay. Ethan's taking care of her, but it looks like she'll be just fine. What about you? The Oni held you longer than they did the others."

"C-cold." Scott whispered. Now that his arm was healing, he became aware of the violent shivers that were beginning to take hold. Derek nodded, his eyes concerned.

"Go get a blanket." He instructed Aiden. When they were alone, he pulled Scott close, wrapping his arms around him. "You'll be okay. I felt like this after they did this to me too. It'll just take a while for your body to adjust." Derek assured him softly. Scott nodded.

"M-my dad?"

"He's alive. The wound's bad, but he'll be okay. His heartbeat is strong." Scott nodded again and sunk into Derek a bit more. He was exhausted beyond words. Dimly, he was aware of strong hands wrapping something soft around his shoulders.

"Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Your fight is my fight, Scott."

 **Not much, but just a little extra that I would like to have seen. You may notice that I change small details of the episodes to fit my story. I just think it helps make it more dramatic :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary: Tag to 4x07 ("Weaponized") What I think should have happened after Scott opened the door to the vault.**

"Scott, please…" Stiles whispered into the door. Tears ran down his face as he was confronted with the very real possibility of his friends' deaths. A sudden scrape drew his attention back to the door as it began to slide open.

"Scott?" A moment later, his best friend collapsed onto his hands and knees in front of him. Scott was paler than Stiles had ever seen him. Covered in sweat and gasping for breath, the image did not inspire confidence in the supposed cure.

"Stiles…" Scott croaked, his arms shaking as he struggled to hold himself up. A second later, he fell forward into Stiles.

"Scott! Did it work? Are you getting better?"

"Th-think…so." Scott panted, his voice barely a whisper. Sure enough, the black veins on his neck were slowly receding. Stiles let out a short, relieved laugh and pulled Scott into a hug.

"I thought…you weren't answering…I thought you were dead." Scott lifted tired eyes up to his friend.

"Not yet." He replied with a smile. That same smile that always told Stiles that everything was okay.

"Okay…okay. You good? Can you stand?"

"I…I don't know." Scott admitted. He still felt weak and sick and his body refused to stop shaking.

"Hey, it's okay. Just take a moment. I'll go check on Kira and Malia, okay?" Stiles offered. Scott nodded and sagged back against the wall, trying to summon the energy to move. After a minute or two, Malia stalked past him without a second glance, closely followed by Stiles and Kira.

"Stiles? What happened?" he asked, taking in the worried faces of his friends.

"She knows. She knows about Peter." Stiles replied dejectedly.

"Hey," Kira said, grabbing his arm, "she was going to find out anyway." Stiles nodded and knelt next to Scott.

"C'mon, let's get you up. Your dad's up there freaking out about you."

"He's here?" Scott whispered, still out of breath.

"Yeah, buddy, he's here." Stiles said, putting a hand on Scott's shoulder. "You doin' okay? You don't look so good."

"I don't think he got as big of a dose of the mushrooms as Malia and I." Kira said, crouching next to Stiles. "He was facing away from the jar when it broke and he left the vault before us." She said, concern shining in her dark eyes.

"Guys, I'm okay. I can feel myself healing, just…slower." Scott assured them.

"Alright, well let's get you out of here before our dads send out a search party." Stiles and Kira each took one of Scott's arms and wrapped them around their shoulders. Gently, they lifted Scott up onto unsteady feet.

"Sorry…" he gasped breathlessly, sagging into them.

"It's okay, Scotty. Just lean on us, alright?" Stiles said as he carefully readjusted his grip. "Ready?" Kira and Scott both nodded.

They made their way slowly down the hall, trying to take as much of Scott's weight as possible. They only made it up a few steps before Scott waivered and nearly fell back down the stairs.

"Whoa whoa, you okay? Scott?" Stiles asked as he lowered his friend to a sitting position.

"Yeah…just…dizzy." Scott whispered with a slight wheeze.

"We're not gonna be able to get him up these stairs." Kira said, glancing up at all the steps left. Stiles nodded. Scott's head lolled against his chest as he took short, gasping breaths.

"Still healing okay, buddy?"

"Yeah. I can feel it. I think I can…make it up…just a little-" Scott broke off into a coughing fit.

"I can go for help." Kira suggested. "I mean, the vault's closed, so we don't have to worry about anyone finding it and there's no way we're getting him up these." Stiles nodded, seeing her point, and Kira took off.

"Sorry." Scott murmured, his eyes closed. The short walk to the stairs had drained his reserves, leaving him exhausted and weak. "Should be…stronger."

"Shut up, would ya? Even bad ass alpha werewolves are allowed to need help, especially when they nearly just died. So just save it, okay? You don't have to be strong all the time." Stiles said, moving to allow Scott's head to rest on his shoulder. He could still feel the fine tremors running through his friend's body. Scott seemed to drift off after that, his breathing evening out. Stiles kept two fingers on Scott's wrist just to reassure him that there was still a heartbeat.

"Scott!" Five minutes later, Stiles saw his dad and Scott's father barreling down the stairs toward them, Kira and Lydia following closely behind. The shout had been McCall's. Despite Stiles disdain for the man who had abandoned his best friend, he could see how worried the man was.

"The CDC says this was some sort of bioweapon you were all infected with, but that we don't have to worry about it spreading. Most likely, they said, it was in the water you all drank from the fountain before the test." Stillinski said, filling them all in. McCall was crouched next to his son, running a hand through Scott's hair.

"Scott? Can you hear me?" He asked as he lightly patted Scott's cheeks. Scott's eyes fluttered open.

"Dad, I-" Scott broke off into a fit of painful sounding coughs.

"Easy, go easy, Scott." Stillinski said as he checked Scott's pulse.

"I'm okay. Promise." Scott said in an attempt to reassure the others. "Really."

"Let's get him up." Stillinski suggested. Together, he and McCall lifted Scott's body so that they each supported him on either side.

"Ambulance is waiting out front." McCall assured him. Scott just nodded and let the others carry him. He must have blacked out at some point because the next time he opened his eyes, he was laying down and someone was fitting an oxygen mask over his face. He tried to say something, but the mask muffled his words.

"Relax, kiddo. You're gonna be okay." The paramedic soothed. Still confused and disoriented, Scott struggled against the man's strong arms.

"Scott! Hey, it's okay. Look at me, buddy. Everything's fine." The blurry outline in front of him gradually came into focus to reveal Stiles leaning over him.

"Stiles." He said, or, at least tried to.

"Don't try to talk buddy. They're gonna take you to the hospital. I called Deaton and he's there with your mom. They'll take care of you. For right now, just lay back and relax." Stiles' voice grounded him and he let himself fall back onto the gurney. With speaking out of the question, Scott just squeezed Stiles' hand, hoping it would convey all that his words couldn't. Stiles just smiled down at him.

"You're welcome, buddy."

 **The End!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary: Not really a tag to any episode. Set during a generic fight between our favorite pack and the bad guy(s) of the week. Early or mid-season three. Since I'm not an expert in all things supernatural, I will make some stuff up, but I'll try to stay as true to the show and to common sense as possible :) Oh, and by the way, I've always been a Scallison and Stydia type of girl. Sorry if that's not your thing, but I see it as cannon!**

They were late. Scott had had a plan and it all hinged on them being there and _they were late_. By some cruel twist of fate, a tree had fallen, blocking the road. By the time they arrived at the old warehouse, the fight was over. Stiles, Lydia, Allison, and Derek jumped out of the Jeep into something from a nightmare. Blood was splattered across the walls in wide arcs and pools of gathered on the cement floor. Allison held her bow at the ready, arms tensed.

"Derek, can you get his scent? Is he still here?" Stiles whispered, gripping his bat tighter. Derek closed his eyes, trying to get a lock on Scott's scent.

"All I smell is blood." They continued to creep quietly through the warehouse, searching for some sign of-

"SCOTT!" Lydia screamed. The others followed her gaze to the crumpled form in the corner. Allison dropped her bow and raced toward him. Her shaking fingers found his neck and she pressed them into his throat.

"C'mon, Scott. Please don't be dead." She muttered softly. Stiles was now on Scott's other side, gently slapping his cheeks in an attempt to rouse him.

"Scott? Hey, can you hear me, Scotty?"

"I've got a pulse! He's alive!" Allison cried, nearly sobbing with relief. Derek was carefully lifting the tattered remains of Scott's shirt to reveal his torso. They all gasped when they saw the deep, ragged gashes torn into the flesh. Blood still oozed from them, adding to the growing pool beneath Scott's body.

"What's wrong with him? Why isn't he healing?" Lydia asked, her voice shaking. She held one of Scott's hands between both of hers. He was as pale as death and cold to the touch.

"They're from an Alpha. They'll take a lot longer to heal." Derek said worriedly. "He's losing too much blood. We need to stop the bleeding." Without a word, Stiles pulled off the flannel he'd been wearing over his t-shirt and pressed it into the wounds. At this, Scott let a pained whimper.

"Scott, you with us buddy?" Stiles asked. Scott didn't respond. His breaths were coming in short, shallow gasps and his eyes were shut tight with agony.

"Can't you do something?" Allison demanded, brown eyes boring into Derek. Derek's hands were already gripping Scott's forearms. Thick black lines traced their way up Derek's arms as he took the pain into his own body. Immediately, it threatened to overwhelm him. He felt his muscles tense and he let out a low groan that bordered on a growl.

"Derek?" Lydia asked, her voice scared and tentative.

"I'm fine." He gasped. "Stiles, just keep the pressure." Stiles nodded. The harsh lines of pain on Scott's face had begun to ease and he was breathing easier. After a couple minutes, Derek was forced to release his hold on Scott's arm. He collapsed back into the wall, exhausted and panting.

"No…don't…" A whisper, so soft they almost missed it, drew their attention back to the boy on the floor.

"Scott, can you hear us?" Lydia asked softly as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Please…stop…don't hurt them…" Scott whispered again. His eyes were still closed, but he was stirring restlessly.

"Hurt who, Scott? Everyone's safe." Allison assured him.

"Hey, wherever you are," Stiles said, putting his hands on either side of Scott's face, "it's not real, okay? It's over. We've got you. Just open your eyes." Slowly, Scott stopped struggling. His eyes fluttered open halfway.

"Hey." He whispered hoarsely. Stiles let out a relieved laugh.

"That's it? You scare us half to death and all you have to say is 'hey'?" he asked in mock incredulity. Noticing that Scott was still bleeding, he put his hands back on the shirt covering his friend's wounds. Scott winced and took in a sharp breath.

"You alright?" Derek asked softly.

"Yeah. Just hurts."

"Here, let me-" Derek began, but Scott cut him off.

"No. Don't take anymore." Derek could see in Scott's eyes that he hated to cause him pain.

"Guys, he's still bleeding." Allison interjected. They could all see the blood soaking the shirt beneath Stiles' hands and the slowly growing pool around them.

"S'not that bad." Scott slurred, eyes closing again. He coughed and red flecks dotted his bloodless lips.

"Hey, eyes open, Scott. C'mon." Stiles pleaded. When Scott didn't respond, Stiles turned to the others. "He's not healing fast enough. We need to get him to Deaton." Without another word, Derek lifted Scott gently into his arms and ran to the Jeep. He and Stiles took the backseat with Scott while Allison took the passenger seat and Lydia drove. In the three minutes it took to get to the animal clinic, Scott's condition had deteriorated even further. Painful bouts of coughing brought up blood that threatened to choke him until Derek and Stiles turned him on his side.

"Just a little further, Scott." Derek promised. "Stay with us."

Deaton was waiting for them in the exam room. Derek laid Scott gently on the table and instantly Deaton's experienced fingers were probing the wounds. Scott didn't so much as flinch. It took an hour and all of Deaton's considerable knowledge and skill to finally get him stabilized. By that time, they were all exhausted.

"You should all go home and get some rest. He'll be out for hours yet." Deaton suggested, making no move to leave himself. The others said nothing. They were all to fixated on the young man on the exam table.

"He's cold." Allison said quietly, taking off her coat and draping it over him. Derek was the first to leave the room, but he came back a moment later, dragging the chairs from the waiting room with him. No one said a word as they arranged the chairs around the bed and settled in for the long night ahead.

 **Totally meant to post this sooner!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey ya'll! Glad to see all of the new faves and follows. Your reviews always mean the world to me! Feel free to let me know what ya'll are loving and what ya'll are hating and also what you'd like to see next! I love hearing from you. Just a heads up, I will be going on vacation soon, so I won't be able to post for a while :( But no worries! I will update as soon as I can!**

 **Summary: This is a tag to the most recent episode, 5x06 ("Required Reading") so consider this your spoiler warning if you haven't seen it yet! I loved the scene with Scott (finally!) having an asthma attack and I just wanted to expand on it. Also, I felt as though Stiles should have been there instead of Liam. No offense to the little guy, but I love the Scott/Stiles friendship so much.**

He couldn't breathe. The thought swirled in the back of Scott's mind without really surfacing as he signed his form to drop the AP class.

"Are you going to tell me why you're dropping?" Mrs. Finch asked. Scott could hear the disappointment in her tone.

"Scheduling thing." He muttered, taking out a pen.

"Why did you take this class to begin with? Isn't it prerequisite for the college you want?"

"It doesn't matter." Scott began. He cleared his throat, noting an uncomfortable tightness as he did so. "It's too much time, too much work."

"To become a veterinarian?" By now, the tightness was beyond uncomfortable. The all too familiar whistle of his breaths through rapidly closing airways resonated in his ears. The pen in his hand began to shake. "Scott, I don't think you should drop." Mrs. Finch said. Scott didn't answer. This couldn't be possible, he thought. He hadn't had one in nearly two years. Ever since the bite…

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. His legs started to shake and he gripped the desk to stay upright. The familiar panic was hitting and his shallow gasps quickened. Without warning, his mind flashed to the image of a bloody leash clutched tightly in a small hand.

"Scott?" Finch's voice was a million miles away. He dropped the pen as he was hit with another image, this time of a gurney being wheeled quickly down the halls of the emergency room. Then he saw dogs. Two of them. Fighting. The bloody leash. The horrible images assaulted him and he was powerless to stop them. He could feel his airways constricting, feel himself getting dizzy.

"Scott? What's happening?" This time, Finch's voice was full of concern. Scott felt himself falling he collapsed onto the corner of the desk.

"I think," he rasped, pausing to draw in a wheezing gulp of air, "I'm having an asthma attack." The pressure in his chest was nearly unbearable. Cold sweat popped out on his forehead.

"Someone! Someone get the nurse!" His breaths were coming so fast now as he tried desperately to take in even a spoonful of air. Then he was falling into blackness.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in the hallway of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. It was as if he were standing in a movie, watching the action, but not a part of it. He watched as a young boy, no older than four, was rushed down the hall. In his hand, the boy held tight to a bloody leash. Scott recognized his own mom as she ran alongside the gurney.

"Mom?" The boy asked, his voice full of fear.

"You're okay, sweetheart. You just need to breathe, okay?" His mom assured the boy. Vaguely, Scott wondered why his mother wasn't wearing scrubs. Despite the dream-like quality of the scene, he was still fighting for each breath.

"Where's Roxy?" The boy asked, despite Melissa's instructions.

"Sweetheart, just breathe."

"Where's Roxy?" he asked again.

"Try not to talk." His mother all but begged. Scott fell back against the wall, panting and fighting to stay on his feet. As his mother gently pried the leash out of the boy's hand, Scott realized who the boy was.

"Scott, you need to breathe!" His mother instructed. He clutched his chest, feeling the fear that always accompanied an attack. A moment later, the scene fell away and was replaced with the blurry outline of a classroom.

"Scott? Scott, look at me. I need to know where your inhaler is." Despite her best efforts, the boy collapsed on the floor remained unresponsive. Mrs. Finch had never witnessed an asthma attack before, and she was terrified to say the least. Scott McCall was staring off into nowhere with his eyes as wide as saucers. His pale, clammy skin was ice cold and his lips were rapidly turning blue. Each small breath he took sounded shallow and painful.

"Is it in your locker? Scott?" She tried again. She shook him a little, but it was clear that Scott couldn't answer. "Someone's gotta have an inhaler! One of you, find someone." She shouted to the growing crowd outside of her door. Despite the failure of all of her previous attempts, she continued to shake his shoulders.

"Scott. Scott? Scott, hang on." She pleaded. She could see him fading in front of her. "Stay with me."

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

"Does anyone here have asthma? Anyone got an inhaler?!" A voice shouted down the hall. Stiles glanced up from the books he'd been putting into his locker. Even though Scott hadn't had an asthma attack since their sophomore year, Stiles still felt a jolt of panic. He stopped the guy running down the hall.

"What's happening?" he asked.

"Some guy's having an asthma attack in Finch's room." Stiles felt his heart clench. Scott had planned to go there over his free period to drop the class. Trying to keep a panic attack at bay, Stiles ripped open the front pocket of his backpack and removed a small red inhaler. He'd been carrying it around for a year and a half now, just in case. Silently, he thanked God for his paranoia. Leaving his locker door standing wide open, Stiles sprinted down the hall, praying he wouldn't be too late.

He had to shove through the gawking crowd around the door. The words "Everybody move! I have his inhaler!" didn't seem to have much of an effect on them. Finally, Stiles pushed his way through and slid to a halt next to Scott. Memories stretching all throughout their childhood rushed through his head as he took in the way his friend was slumped against the teacher's desk, staring off into space. He remembered those wheezing breaths and the ER visits that almost always accompanied them. Stiles could instantly tell that this was a bad one. Scott was paler than a corpse and his lips were a definite shade of blue.

"Scott!" Stiles placed the inhaler in Scott's hand. "Scott, come on. You gotta use your inhaler, buddy. Just like old times, okay?" Scott continued stare ahead with impossibly wide eyes. His breaths were getting shallower with every passing second. "Scott! I can't do this for you. You have to use it." Scott didn't acknowledge him, but Stiles saw his fingers twitch around the inhaler as if trying to grasp it.

"Okay," Stiles said, taking Scott's face in his hands, "Scott, listen to me. You're going to die if you don't use your inhaler. Think of all of the people depending on you. Are you really gonna leave us to fend for ourselves?" Stiles knew it was a low blow, but at this point he'd try anything. To his relief, Scott's eyes found his and he began to move. His gasps became more urgent as he struggled to raise the inhaler to his mouth.

"Here, I got it. Breathe when I say, okay?" Stiles said, placing the device into his friend's mouth. "One…two…three…breathe!" Stiles pressed the button and Scott took a shuddering breath. "Good, again. One...two…three…breathe." They repeated the process once more. By then, Stiles could see the medicine taking effect.

"Is he alright?" Finch asked, noting how the blue tint was beginning to disappear from Scott's lips. "Do I need to call an ambulance?" Scott was only semi-conscious, leaning against Stiles chest. His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily.

"No…no he'll be okay. His mom's a nurse. I'll take him in myself. It'll be less stressful for him." Stiles assured her. She nodded.

"How long has he had asthma?"

"His whole life. It was pretty bad when were little. He hasn't had an attack in a couple of years. We thought he'd outgrown it." Stiles told her, wondering to himself why Scott's asthma was resurfacing.

"You really got through to him." She said, giving Stiles a warm smile.

"Yeah, Scott's got some pretty serious protective instincts." Stiles said with a slight smile. He glanced down at Scott's face, pleased to see his color improving. Gently, Stiles laid Scott on the floor, with a balled up sweatshirt beneath his head. With a sigh of relief, Finch went to the door.

"Alright, everyone. Back to class. Now." As the crowd dispersed, Scott groaned and rolled his head on Stiles' shoulder.

"Scott, you with me, buddy?"

"Mmmmm…"

"Come on, big guy, you gotta give me a little more than that."

"Wha' happened?" Scott slurred, blinking groggily up at him.

"You had an asthma attack. You doing okay?" Scott nodded. Although his breathing had improved quite a bit with the inhaler, his breaths were still shallow and wheezing.

"Tired."

"I bet, but how 'bout we get to the hospital before you totally pass out on me, okay? Let your mom take a look at you?"

"But…'m a werewolf…werewolves 'nd hospitals don't mix." Scott mumbled.

"True, but since you're not healing ridiculously fast, I think we should really get you checked out."

"Don't wanna worry mom."

"Trust me, dude, she'll be more worried – and pissed – if she finds out you didn't let a doctor see you. Come on, I'll be with you the whole time."

"'kay." Scott conceded.

"Can you stand or am I gonna have to drag you out?" Stiles asked.

"I can stand." With Stiles holding one arm and Mrs. Finch holding the other, they slowly got Scott to his feet.

"C'mon. Up ya go."

"Whoah…" Scott staggered as the world spun around him.

"You alright, Scott?" Finch asked.

"Mmmhhh…just dizzy. Gimme a sec." They held Scott still until he felt confident that he wouldn't fall.

"Alright, I got him from here. Do you mind telling the office what's going on?" Stiles asked.

"Sure, I'll let them know. You sure you don't need help?"

"Nah, I've done this plenty of times, right Scotty?"

"Yup."

"Alright, take it easy. Scott, I'll see you in class." Finch said with a wink. Scott smiled at her. With Stiles supporting him, they managed to make it to the Jeep. Stiles buckled Scott in, then drove to the hospital.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

"Easy, Scott, just lean on me." Stiles said softly as he led Scott into the ER. Within seconds, Melissa McCall descended on the two of them.

"Oh my God…Scott! Stiles, what happened?" She asked, motioning for a nurse to bring her a wheelchair.

"He had an asthma attack. I got him to take his inhaler, but his chests still pretty tight." Stiles said, helping Melissa lower Scott into the wheelchair. As she pushed her son into the nearest room, she whispered tensely to Stiles.

"You have to tell me right now, does this involve anything…supernatural?"

"Not that I can tell, no. I'm not exactly sure why he's having an attack since he hasn't had one since the bite, but I don't think it's something you can't treat here." Stiles replied. They reached the room and Melissa knelt to get eye level with Scott.

"Scott, honey, are with me?" She asked, running a hand through his sweat dampened hair. Scott blinked at her.

"Yeah. I'm okay." He rasped.

"Alright, let's get you in the bed." With Stiles' help, she got Scott out of the chair and lying down on the bed. Melissa instantly set to work hooking a nasal cannula around his ears and pressing her stethoscope to Scott's chest.

"Scott, I'm gonna go call the others and let them know you're alright. Be right back, okay?" Scott nodded and Stiles left the room.

"Take a deep breath for me." Melissa instructed. She frowned.

"That bad?"

"No, it's just…this shouldn't be happening, right? I thought you being werewolf meant this was over."

"I think it's from the memory."

"You mean that suppressed memory that book was supposed to bring back?"

"Yeah. I didn't really understand it, but I saw myself, as a little kid, being brought here for an asthma attack."

"And that could trigger it?"

"Lydia's had a pretty physical effect on her."

"Okay. Well, your lungs sound pretty good considering. I'm gonna keep you here an hour, then Stiles," she said, glancing at the boy who had just walked back in, "is going to drive you home and tuck you in. Won't you, Stiles?"

"Absolutely." Stiles agreed. Scott laughed softly and closed his eyes.

"Get some rest, sweetheart." Melissa said, kissing Scott's forehead.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

That night Scott slept soundly in his bed. It was a testament to how exhausted he was that he didn't wake at the sound of the door opening. Melissa slipped into her son's room and sat on the edge of the bed. The moonlight shining on Scott's face revealed a healthy color in his cheeks. His breathing was deep and even. He was the picture of health. And yet…

Clutched tightly in his hand was a small red inhaler. It had been nearly two years since she'd seen this and the fact that Scott was worried enough to keep it on him scared her more than anything.

 **There, that was a bit longer. I do apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes I may have missed. I hope you all enjoyed this!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello all! I'm writing this while in a cabin in the middle of the woods with no wifi. If there are any inaccuracies with the show in this chapter (I usually like to obsessively fact check myself using the internet), I do apologize!**

 **Summary: Set sometime in season 3A or thereabouts, not a tag. Scott is sick and can't figure out why, but decides to try going to school anyway.**

Scott knew the moment he woke up that it was going to be a bad day. When he opened his eyes that morning, sunlight streamed into his face and made him suddenly and painfully aware of the pounding in his head. He groaned and pulled his blanket up over his head, trying to figure out why it felt like a spike was being driven into his brain. He was just starting to nod off again when he heard his bedroom door open.

"Scott?" His mom called. He merely groaned in response. The mattress next to him dipped and the blanket was pulled back. "Rise and shine, sweetheart. You've got school in twenty minutes." She patted his leg then left the room. Reluctantly, Scott dragged himself from beneath the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. The room spun sickeningly for a moment before stabilizing. Once he was sure the floor wasn't going to move, he stood and dressed, realizing how sore all of his muscles felt.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

At the school, Scott parked his bike badly in one of the parking spaces and stumbled inside. The morning was cool and breezy, and yet beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He wiped them away and continued toward his locker. The warning bell rang loudly and he clutched his head, dropping his backpack in the process.

"Are you ever gonna get used to those?" A voice asked next to him. Scott glanced up to see Stiles laughing and handing him his backpack.

"Thanks." Scott muttered, taking the bag. Stiles frowned, studying his friend carefully.

"Whoa…you okay, man?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you're pale, sweaty, and uncoordinated, which are all things you haven't been since the bite." Stiles pointed out.

"I'm just tired." Scott said wearily, brushing it off.

"Yeah, clearly." Stiles said, taking in the dark, bruise-like circles under Scott's eyes.

"C'mon, let's just go to class."

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWWTWTWTW

Ms. Blake was a good teacher, in Scott's opinion. She was interesting and passionate about her subject. And yet, today Scott could barely focus on a word she said. In contrast to the previous year, he was really trying to turn over a new leaf this time around. His grades were high this year and his attendance was far more reliable. However, his plan to pay attention in class didn't seem to be working today. The pain in his head was worse. He felt cold, clammy, and shaky in a way he hadn't in over a year. His whole body ached and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep off whatever this was. He rested his head in his hands and tried to concentrate on not throwing up or passing out.

"Scott?" His head shot up, which immediately sent a stab of pain lancing through his skull.

"Hmmmmm?" The class was looking at him in a way that suggested that Ms. Blake had just asked him a question.

"I was wondering if you could give us a summary of last night's reading." She repeated.

"Oh…yeah…uh…" The room was spinning again. He blinked and swallowed hard.

"Scott? Are you alright? Do you need to go to the nurse?" Blake asked.

"No…no I'm fine." Scott caught Stiles eyeing him with concern out of the corner of his eye. Allison had turned around with an expression nearly identical to Stiles'. He knew they had been watching him closely ever since the incident at the Glen Capri. Ignoring both of them, he rattled off a quick summary of the chapters the class had been assigned to read last night. As Blake launched into her explanation of the author's use of symbolism, Scott felt something tap his knee. He glanced down and saw Allison holding a note for him under the desk. He took the paper quickly and unfolded it. "You okay?" was written in her neat hand. He quickly scrawled out the same excuse he'd given Stiles earlier at the bottom and passed it back to her. After that, he spent the rest of the hour with his head buried in the crook of his arm.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Lunch time came and by this point, the noise from the cafeteria was almost unbearable. He sat down at their usual table and stared listlessly at the dirty floor. A moment later, a tray clattered down in front of him. He glanced up to see Stiles taking the seat opposite him.

"Eat."

"I'm not hungry." Scott mumbled.

"Come on. I guarantee you didn't have breakfast this morning. This is probably just a low blood sugar thing. Werewolves can get that, right? I mean, you do have a super-fast metabolism. It makes sense that you need to eat more. So, dig in." Stiles was already demolishing the food on his tray. Under his friend's watchful eye, Scott picked at the piece of pizza in front of him. After a few minutes, Lydia and Allison joined them.

"You weren't kidding." Lydia said to Allison. "He looks terrible."

"That's what I said." Stiles agreed through a mouthful of pizza.

"Can he even get sick?" Allison asked.

" _He_ is right here, and I'm fine. Just tired is all." Scott said, abandoning his pizza.

"I'm serious, Scott." Lydia said worriedly.

"Look, I'm okay. I promise. Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix. Now, can we talk about something else? Please?" Reluctantly, the others changed the topic. Scott pushed his tray away and rested his head on his hand, feeling worse by the minute. They were going through the list of possible suspects in the sacrifices for the hundredth time when Scott grabbed his backpack and ran out of the cafeteria.

"Scott! Hey, Scott!" Stiles shouted after him, but he didn't look back. Finally, he made it to the bathroom and shut himself in a stall. He fell to his knees and immediately lost what little he'd eaten that day. Breathing heavily and trying to reign in the intense pain in his abdomen, he sat back against the wall. Without looking, he flushed the toilet and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, not noticing how something black stained the fabric. After a few minutes, he pushed himself up on shaky legs and went over to the sink where he rinsed his mouth. Despite his earlier claims, Scott was beginning to wonder if maybe the others were right about him being sick. Was that even possible? Maybe Derek would know…Scott toyed briefly with the idea of asking the older werewolf, but dismissed the idea quickly. He was just being paranoid.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

The rest of the day dragged on with maddening slowness. Scott could actually hear the clocks ticking on the wall. By the end of the day, he felt completely and utterly used up. His skin was ashen and he looked about as bad as he felt. Still, he stumbled into the locker room after school, ready to fulfill his duties as team captain. The moment he walked in, Danny caught his eye.

"Woah…you okay, McCall?" He asked, eyeing Scott as if he'd fall over any moment. Scott didn't have the energy for a verbal reply, so he nodded, brushing past his teammate and sitting down on the bench in front of his locker to change. A few minutes later, Stiles walked into the room. The moment he saw Scott, he ran over.

"There you are! What the hell happened, man?" He asked

"What do you mean?" Scott asked. He wasn't following very well.

"I mean you running off at lunch without a word."

"Oh, that. I…I, uh…" Scott stammered. Stiles frowned and crouched down to get eye level with him.

"Jesus, Scott. You really don't look good." Stiles said, his dark eyes shining with concern. "Maybe you should sit practice out today. All coach has to do is take one look at you and he'll believe that you're sick."

"I'm not sick. Can't get sick."

"Well, your body begs to differ."

"I'm fine."

"No. No you are not. Scott, I'm serious." Stiles implored. Coach's impossibly loud whistle blew.

"Asses on the field!" Coach called.

"So am I. I'll be fine." Scott said, getting unsteadily to his feet and following the rest of the team out to the field. Stiles followed apprehensively. Once they were outside, Coach tossed Scott a stick, which he barely caught.

"Why don't you show these guys how to get passed defense."

"Yes, coach." Scott said quietly. Coach scrutinized him.

"You look like shit, McCall." Was all he said, but his tone sounded more worried than anything. Scott shrugged and headed out to the center of the field. They were just about to begin the drill when a sudden wave of dizziness overtook him. The pain in his head ratcheted up several notches and he felt as if he couldn't draw a full breath. Dimly, he was aware that coach had blown the whistle to begin. The sound sent a spike through his brain. His eyes rolled up, his legs buckled, and he collapsed in the middle of the field.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Stiles was the first to see Scott fall. He had been watching, waiting for something like this to happen.

"McCall!" Coach yelled, running over to where Stiles was crouched over his friend. "Everybody back! Give him some air!"

"Scott…Scott." Stiles called, shaking Scott's shoulders and lightly tapping his cheeks.

"What happened?" Someone asked.

"I don't know. He just passed out." Someone else answered. Coach was kneeling next to Scott now.

"McCall, can you hear me? McCall? Scott?" Stiles noticed that it was the first time Coach had ever called him by his first name. He placed a hand on the boy's forehead and his eyes widened. "He's burning up."

"He's been sick all day, not that he'd ever admit it." Stiles told him. Coach started taking Scott's pulse.

"His heartrate's through the roof." A few minutes passed. Someone had run to see if the nurse was still at the school. A sweatshirt had been balled up and placed beneath Scott's head.

"He's not responding at all. I'm going to need to call an ambulance." Coach said. At the same time, Scott stirred faintly.

"Scott? Buddy, you with us?" Stiles asked.

"Open your eyes, Scott." Coach encouraged. Slowly, Scott blinked groggily up at them.

"What?" He asked faintly, trying to sit up. The world around him spun.

"Easy, easy. Just lay back down." Stiles soothed, easing Scott back to the grass. "You passed out."

"I…what?" Confusion was evident in Scott's unfocused eyes.

"You've got one helluva fever, kid. How long have you been feeling sick?" Coach asked.

"Sick? Feel…fine." Scott murmured.

"Nice try, Scott. You look like actual death." Stiles teased without any heat. Scott groaned in response and closed his eyes, his head lolling to the side.

"Hey, keep 'em open, McCall." Coach said, shaking him gently. Scott moaned, but gave no other indication that he'd heard the man. Then Danny joined them, kneeling next to Scott.

"Coach, what is that?" he asked, pointing to where Scott's jersey had ridden up, exposing the bare skin of his waist. They all looked to where Danny was pointing. Stiles gasped.

"I'm calling an ambulance." Coach said, still staring down at Scott. Stiles gingerly lifted the jersey up even further to reveal thick black veins snaking up his chest. Stiles bit his lip as he recognized the symptoms of wolfsbane poisoning. Behind him, Isaac whispered in his ear.

"What the hell is that?"

"Wolfsbane. Isaac, listen to me. He has to go to the hospital. I can't stop that and I'm starting to think it's not such a bad idea. But they won't be able to save him. You need to call Derek and you need to call Deaton. Maybe Argent too. He might know what kind was used. Get them to the hospital as soon as you can. Scott's mom will help us out." Isaac said nothing and continued to stare down at Scott's pale, shivering form. "Isaac!"

"Is he dying?" Isaac asked.

"Yes." Stiles said quietly. Isaac nodded then ran to the locker room to grab his phone. In the distance, Stiles could hear the ambulance approaching. Coach placed a hand on Scott's shoulder.

"Ambulance is on its way, McCall. Just stay with us." Scott coughed in response, black flecks dotting his lips.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWWTWTWTW

When the ambulance pulled onto the field, Scott was barely conscious. He was shaking violently now and more black veins had appeared on his hands, neck, and face. With every passing second, Stiles could tell Scott was spiraling closer to death. He had seen the wolfsbane at work on Derek and he knew how bad this could get. He just hoped that Isaac had gotten through to Deaton.

"Hang on, Scott. Stay with me." Stiles whispered, squeezing his friend's ice cold hand tightly in his own. Coach was filling the paramedics in on Scott's condition as they knelt down to work on him.

"Scott? Can you hear us?" One of the medics asked as she opened one of Scott's eyes and shone a light in it. Scott said nothing, just continued to in his struggle to draw in shallow gasps of air. After a couple of minutes, an oxygen mask was fitted over his face and they lifted him onto a backboard, all the while shouting out comments to each other about blood pressure and temperature. As they wheeled him over to the ambulance, one of the paramedics pushed Stiles back, forcing him to let go of Scott's hand.

"I'm sorry, but you can't come with us." She said quickly.

"But-" Stiles began to protest, but he stopped when Scott started to rouse. Agitated, but still only semi-conscious, Scott pulled down the mask.

"No…Stiles…where?" He muttered disjointedly, his hand reaching out for something. Stiles pushed past the medic and grabbed Scott's hand again.

"I'm right here, buddy. I'm right here. Everything's gonna be okay." Stiles said as he gently put the mask back on. Instantly, Scott calmed down. Stiles glared at the paramedics. "I'm coming." To their credit, they didn't argue. Soon Scott was loaded into the back of the ambulance. The sirens screamed as they tore through the streets of Beacon Hills. On the gurney, Scott lay completely still. The hand that Stiles was holding had gone limp. Frowning, the paramedic leaned over him. After consulting the various monitors, she yelled for her partner to speed up.

"BP is fifty over thirty-three and falling, pulse two twenty-five." She said as she checked each reading. Stiles was by no means a medical expert, but he knew enough to know how bad it was.

"Please, Scott. Don't do this." He whispered.

Finally, the screeched to a halt at the entrance to the ER and were met with a flurry of activity. Melissa McCall was among the doctors and nurses clustered around them. Stiles could see it on her face that she was aware of what was going on, and as Stiles got out, she whispered to him.

"Deaton and Argent are on their way. Derek's already here." Then Scott was being wheeled quickly down the hall and Stiles was led to a waiting room. There he found Derek, pacing anxiously.

"Isaac called me." He said, concern shining in his eyes. "What happened? Was he attacked?" Stiles shook his head.

"I don't know. I don't thinks so. He was fine yesterday, but as soon as he got to school today I could tell something was wrong. Idiot kept insisting he was fine." Stiles said, running a shaking hand through his messy hair. Derek let out a breath and bit his lip.

"We need to find out what kind we're dealing with. From what you and Isaac described, this sounds way stronger than what I got hit with last year." Stiles nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, this definitely came on fast."

"I told his mom and she gonna get a blood sample to me as soon as she can and I'll run it to the animal clinic so Deaton can analyze it. Argent's meeting us there. Their family has nearly every kind of wolfsbane in their vault."

"How much time do we have?"

"Not much. Scott's strong, but wolfsbane is designed to kill werewolves." He said quietly, as if it pained him to admit it. A moment later, Melissa jogged over and slipped a vial into Derek's hand.

"Go." She said, her voice pleading. Derek nodded and left and she ran back down the hall. Now alone in the sterile, ugly waiting room, Stiles was hit with the reality that his best friend was in the other room right now, slowly dying. The thought that he could lose Scott was too much and he sat down in one of the hard chairs. He could feel panic rising in him, bubbling threateningly below the surface. Not knowing what else to do, he ran over to the phone on the wall and called Lydia. She answered after two agonizingly slow rings.

"Stiles? What's going on? I just heard that Scott was taken to the hospital." Lydia said right away, her voice frantic.

"He's been poisoned. Wolfsbane."

"What?!" Allison's voice asked sharply on the other end. He must have been on speaker.

"Derek just took a blood sample to Deaton and Argent to see if they could identify a type." Stiles explained in a shaky voice.

"How bad is it?" Allison asked.

"It's…he's dying. He's dying and I don't what to do." Stiles voice broke.

"We're on our way." Lydia promised.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Two hours passed. Lydia and Allison had joined Stiles. They sat in silence, waiting for any news on Scott's condition. Lydia had picked up Stiles bag from the school and he had changed out of his lacrosse uniform. He stared at the phone in his lap, willing Derek to call. When it seemed like he would burst with anxiety, Melissa came back into the waiting room, her face grim.

"We've done all we can." She said quietly, tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. "He's unconscious for now. He…he won't make it much longer. The doctors have no clue what's wrong with him." Stiles stood and they pulled each other tight. Even before his mother died, Melissa McCall had taken Stiles in as another son.

"Can I see him?" He asked. Melissa wiped her eyes and nodded.

"Follow me. Technically, I'm not allowed to do this, but I don't give a damn about the rules today." Checking to make sure it was clear, she led them into the ICU. She quickly ushered them inside Scott's room. Allison gasped when she saw him and Lydia squeezed Stiles' hand so tight he thought it would break. Neither of them had seen Scott since lunch. Even Stiles was taken aback by how much he'd deteriorated in the last two hours. His skin was as white as the sheets he lay on. IVs were stuck in in his arms and countless wires snaked under his gown from various monitors. Stiles stared at the tube down Scott's throat.

"He stopped breathing not long after they brought him in and we had to put him on a ventilator." Melissa said quietly. Allison was staring, wide-eyed at the black veins tracing their way across Scott's skin.

"How did this happen?" She whispered. Stiles shook his head, saying nothing. He sat in the chair next to Scott's bed, and stared, unable to tear his eyes away. After a couple of minutes, Melissa left to get another bag of fluids for Scott's IV. Stiles squeezed Scott's lifeless hand.

Suddenly, without warning, Scott's body went rigid and he began to shake uncontrollably, his muscles spasming. His limbs flailed violently in seizure. Black blood dripped from his nose. The machines around them blared their warnings. Before they even had a chance to process what was happening, Stiles, Lydia, and Allison were being ushered out of the room. A frazzled looking nurse escorted them back to the waiting room, despite their protests. Stiles knew this was it. Scott's body couldn't fight the poison anymore. He was going to die.

"We've got it!" Came a shout from behind them. Derek sprinted into the room, clutching a syringe full of a dark blue liquid. Close behind came Deaton and Argent.

" _Aconitum carmichaelii_." Deaton said breathlessly. "Carmichael's Monkshood. It's one of the rarest and most dangerous species out there."

"We only had three dried petals in our vault." Argent added. Stiles grabbed the syringe.

"He needs it now!" he shouted over his shoulder, running down the hall. He caught Melissa outside the door and pressed the antidote into her hand.

"They found it. They found the cure. You need to give this to him right now!" Stiles told her. She nodded, taking it and slipping into the room.

"I thought I said to stay in the waiting room!" The angry nurse from before said, grabbing his arm and all but dragging him back down the hall. Stiles stared back behind, praying it wasn't too late.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Since receiving the bite, Scott McCall's life had been a series of close calls. The wolfsbane bullet shot by one of the Argents, Victoria Argent's attempt to kill him, even his near suicide at that God forsaken motel. There were hundreds of such occurrences. All close calls.

But none of them had ever been this close.

It had come down to a matter of seconds. Seconds of life left before there was no coming back. The other doctors were too distracted to notice when the boy's mother injected a dark liquid into his IV line. They did, however, notice that the convulsions ceased. Scott's body stilled. At first they feared the worst. But then the reassuring _beep_ of the heart monitor announced that the boy was alive. Scott McCall's heart continued to beat.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Pain. It was the first thing he was aware of. As he slowly pulled himself toward consciousness, Scott realized that there was not a single part of him that didn't hurt. A quiet beeping emanated from somewhere to his left. As did a soft snore. Groggily, Scott flickered open his eyes, wincing as his head pounded. Above him, a blurry image gradually sharpened to reveal Derek, smiling down at him.

"Hey." He said softly. Scott blinked up at him. Scott's confusion mounted. Derek barely smiled at anyone.

"Wha'?" Scott asked, try to push himself up and failing as he realized just how weak he was. The pain had been in the background until now. It hit him full force and he gasped.

"I wouldn't do that just yet." Derek said, easing him back down gently. "You're gonna be weak for a few days yet." He said, then frowned as he glanced down at his own hand. His hand was resting on Scott's shoulder and he could see the black in his veins, running up his arms. "You're in pain?" He asked. Scott didn't have the energy to answer. Derek wrapped both of his hands around Scott's bicep and allowed it to flow into him for a minute. When he let go, the pain had settled into the background.

"Better?" Derek asked, a little breathless.

"Yeah." Scott replied. He met Derek's gaze, eyes imploring him for answers. "What happened to me?" Derek sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Wolfsbane."

"What? I don't understand."

"We think you were dosed with it by injection. Your mom found a needle mark on your shoulder. Right now the working theory is that it was the twins." Derek explained. Scott took a moment to process that.

"How come I didn't, ya know, die?" He asked.

"You almost did." Said a quiet voice to his left. Scott turned his head to see Stiles sitting in the chair next to him. "You almost died, Scott."

"That bad, huh?" Scott said, with a small laugh. Stiles shot him a look.

"You don't get it, do you? You didn't listen when I told you something was wrong. You just kept insisting that you were fine. I watched as you were dying slowly _and_ painfully and I couldn't do a damn thing!" Stiles said, his eyes glistening. "Scott, I almost lost you."

"Stiles…Stiles, I'm so sorry. I honestly don't even remember what happened. I would never-" Scott apologized, clearly upset. He had to stop when the talking triggered a painful bout of coughing and left him winded and exhausted. Derek helped him into a sitting position so he could breathe easier.

"Shhhhh, easy Scott. Just breathe." Stiles said, rubbing slow circle on Scott's back. As the coughing tapered off, he held up a cup of water with a straw. Scott drank greedily, downing it all in less than a minute. When he was done, he sagged back and let Derek and Stiles lower him back down.

"Thanks." He rasped. Stiles gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand.

"Get some sleep. I'll tell you everything in the morning." Scott nodded and closed his eyes.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"I really am sorry."

"I know you are, Scott. I know." The firm steady presence of Stiles' hand in his own calmed him and he drifted back to sleep.

 **Well this took forever to finish. I just found wifi so I finally get to post this. Enjoy! Oh, and by the way, I have no idea if the species of wolfsbane I used it "rare" or "extra poisonous" like I said. The only thing I didn't make up about it is its name.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi! So, I'm really loving reading all of your kind reviews. Ya'll are so sweet! To those of you who have requested a certain story, I promise I'm working on it! In the meantime…**

 **Summary: With everything crashing down around him, the stress starts taking its toll on Scott. Set in season 5, so consider this your spoiler warning if you're not all caught up!**

 _Tick…Tock…Tick…Tock…Tick…Tock…_

The quiet ticking of the old clock downstairs was deafening in the late night silence. Scott lay awake in his bed, listening to the predictable repetition of it and hoping it would lull him to sleep.

Here's to hoping, he thought tiredly. He glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed. The digital screen told him it was past two in the morning. As the clock ticked on, Scott closed his eyes again, willing his body to sleep. He stayed like that, wide awake, until the sun streamed through the window. It was earlier that he ever usually got up, but what the hell. He wasn't going to be getting any sleep anyways. With a weary sigh, Scott dragged himself out of bed. Last night marked his sixth day without so much as a wink of sleep. At first, he'd been able to hide it, but now he could definitely tell how much of a toll this was taking. His body ached for rest and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and just drift away.

Standing at the small sink in his bathroom, Scott splashed his face with cold water. As he glanced up at the mirror, he noticed how bloodshot his eyes were and the dark, bruise-like rings surrounding them. They stood out starkly against his unusually pale skin. Too tired to care, he dried off and got dressed. He was just leaving his bedroom when he heard it. It was soft, but unmistakable.

" _Scott?"_ He stiffened in the doorway, his whole body tense. He was alone in the house, his mom already having left for an early shift. Besides, he would know that voice anywhere. He turned around slowly, almost afraid of what he'd see, but of course, there was no one there. He blinked a few times, then shook his head. He was hearing things, that was all. Too much stress and too little sleep. The Dread Doctors and their most recent attack on Liam and Hayden was weighing heavily on him. And Kira…What kind of alpha was he if he couldn't even protect his pack?

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Once at the school, he stumbled off his bike and made his way inside. Without a word, he slid down the lockers and sat next to Stiles, who was busy trying to finish the homework they had all been too busy to do last night. Scott sat next to him in silence, his mind drifting back to what had happened that morning. They sat like for a few minutes until Stiles finished his assignment and closed his text book with a loud thud.

"I swear to God, if I have to read one more chapter out of that stupid book, I'm just gonna drop out. I tell ya, Scott. A diploma is not worth all of this." Stiles complained. Scott continued to stare ahead, his eyes slightly glazed. Stiles snapped his fingers in front of Scott's face. "Yo, Scotty. Wake up." At that, Scott blinked a few times and looked at his friend.

"Sorry, what did you say?" he asked. Stiles frowned.

"Whoa, buddy…you're looking really tired. You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." Stiles raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. Instead, he stood up and offered Scott his hand. Together, they walked over to join Lydia and Malia. As the others talked, discussing their theories about the Dread Doctors, Scott stood there quietly, only nodding and mumbling a monosyllabic response when prompted. Then he saw it out of the corner of his eye. He only saw her for a second, but there was no mistaking it. No mistaking those long legs or those raven colored curls. He knew every inch of her. But…it was impossible. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. He raced after her, around the corner she'd disappeared behind, only to see a hallway full of underclassmen. He waded through the crowd, shoving people gently out of his way, looking desperately for _her_. He swore he heard her laugh drifting somewhere over the dull roar of conversation. Eyes wide and breathing heavily, he whispered her name.

"Allison." It hurt to say it aloud after so long. He stumbled through the crowd until he collided with someone.

"Scott? Scott, you okay?" Liam asked, grabbing his shoulders to steady him. Scott looked around frantically, but she was gone. "Hey, Scott. Look at me." Liam said, steering him off to the side and giving him a small shake. "What's going on with you?" Scott met Liam's concerned eyes. Mason too was eyeing him worriedly.

"I…I thought I saw…" Scott began. "Never mind…it's nothing. I…I'm fine." Liam frowned.

"Well you don't look like it. Is this another asthma attack?"

"No. nothing like that. Really, I'm fine." Scott glanced behind him and saw Stiles, Lydia, and Malia fighting their way through the crowd toward them. "I gotta go." He said quickly, pulling away from Liam and ignoring the shouts behind him. He ran to locker room and closed himself up in one of the stalls, sinking down against the wall. Putting his head between his knees, he fisted his hands in his hair and tried not to lose what little calm he had left. She had been so real. He'd even caught a whiff of her perfume in the hall. But then, that was impossible. She was dead. Memories came unbidden to him and he suddenly he was back in that parking lot, holding her in his arms as she bled and took her final breaths and told him she loved him. He remembered trying desperately to take her pain, to do _something_. The warm, wet feel of her blood on his hands rushed back to him and he quickly leaned over the toilet and lost his breakfast. Wiping his mouth, he sat back and took deep, shuddering breaths. It had been so long since he'd lost it like this. He took nearly twenty minutes to compose himself. By that time, the bell had rung and he rushed to his next class.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

The rest of the day passed in a blur of exhaustion. Scott felt as if a heavy fog had settled around him. He purposely avoided his friends the rest of the day, not ready to face their questions and concern. Lunch was spent in the library, staring at his biology text book, but not really reading it. In his pocket, his phone vibrated. Stiles was texting him, asking where he was. Scott didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. Everyone else had enough problems of their own right now. They didn't need his.

When the final bell rang, Scott ran out to his bike and tore out of the parking lot as fast as he could. He needed to be alone. On the way home, he probably broke a dozen laws, but he was too distracted to care. Somehow, he managed to make it back to his house, where he quickly locked himself in his room and sat on the floor against his bed. Scott could feel the anxiety and guilt bubbling up within him. All that he had learned over the past few weeks came back and hit him full force. The Dread Doctors were here all because of him. Because he was a werewolf and because he was involved in the supernatural, he had dragged everyone he loved into this nightmare. He'd set off the chain of events that had led them here. Liam and Hayden had been taken right out from under him during his plan and he hadn't even been able to find them. If it hadn't been for Theo…

It felt like the weight of the world was settling onto his shoulders, crushing him painfully. Everything was falling apart and everything he did to fix it made it worse. He was exhausted beyond description and his head pounded. Needing to take a moment and hide from everything around him, Scott slipped into bed and hid himself beneath the covers. When his mom came in hours later to ask if he wanted dinner, he pretended to be asleep. If only he could, he thought with a sigh.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

As the night wore on, Scott managed to let his mind go blank. It wasn't sleep, but it was better than nothing. He lay in bed, staring with unseeing eyes up at the ceiling. It dark out when he heard it again.

" _Scott."_ Her voice whispered, no louder than a gust of wind. " _Come find me…_ " Her soft voice called to him, a siren song urging him up. As if in a trance, he stood and walked to his window. He opened it and leaned out into the rain.

" _Come find me, Scott."_ She called. With a strangely unfocused stare, Scott jumped out of his window to the street below and followed her voice.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Deputy Clarke drove slowly down the empty stretch of highway. It was the second time this week she'd been sent to pick up a teenager standing in the middle of the road. At least this time it wasn't a murder suspect, she thought to herself.

After cruising for a few miles, she found him stumbling in a crooked line in the middle of the lane. She pulled over and got out, approaching the boy cautiously. He was tall, maybe in his late teens.

"Hey there, you alright?" She asked, pitching her voice in a friendly, non-threatening tone. He stopped walking and she moved closer. As she got a better look, she recognized him.

"Scott, right?" She asked. Scott looked up at her, looking more lost and confused than anyone she'd ever seen. "You doing okay, Scott?" He didn't answer, just looked around as if he had no idea how he'd gotten there. She noticed he was barefoot and soaking wet. The rain had stopped a few minutes ago, but before that it had been pouring. "Scott?" She asked again, placing a hand on his arm. She could feel the tremors running through him. Once again, he said nothing. He looked sad and scared and completely exhausted. Gently, she led him toward her cruiser.

"Come on, let's get you inside." She said kindly. He allowed her to lead him to the passenger seat. Ordinarily, she'd have him ride in the back, but it looked to her that this kid had been through hell. This certainly was nothing like the boy she'd seen around the station with the sheriff's son. She sat him down on the passenger seat. Scott's eyes had taken on a glassy quality and he was staring off into nothing. Noting how much he was shivering, Clarke draped her jacket over his shoulders.

"Better?" She asked. He said nothing, just continued to stare out the windshield. Debating whether or not she should take him to the hospital, she started the engine and headed back toward town.

"Can you tell what happened, Scott?" Clarke asked as she cranked the heat up. "Do you know how you got out here?"

"I don't…I…I don't know." He whispered. She tried to coax more out of him, but she got nowhere. When at last they reached the station, she took his arm again and led him inside to her desk and left him sitting in her chair while she went to the sheriff's office. She knocked and poked her head in when Stillinski answered.

"Sir, I think there's somewhere here you need to see."

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Sheriff Stillinkski had often thought of himself as having two sons. Stiles, of course, and Scott McCall. When he walked out into the main station and saw Scott slumped in Clarke's chair, his heart clenched painfully.

"I picked him up a few miles outside of town. He barely said two words the whole time. He seems pretty out of it." Clarke filled him in as he rushed over. Stillinksi reached the desk in a few long strides and crouched down in front of the chair.

"Scott? You with me?" He asked, giving Scott's hand a little squeeze. He frowned. "God, he's freezing. Get him a blanket, would ya?" Clarke nodded and left to find one. Stillinksi tried again.

"Scott?" After a few seconds, a pair of bloodshot and red rimmed brown eyes met his.

"Sh-sheriff?" Scott stuttered.

"Hey, kiddo. Can you tell me what you were doing out there in the middle of the road?" Stillinkski asked gently. Clarke came back and handed him a blanket. He thanked her and waved her off.

"I don't…can't…don't know…" Scott whispered brokenly as the blanket was wrapped around his shoulders.

"Hey, why we go in my office? It's warmer in there." Stillinski said with his best fatherly smile. Scott glanced up with eyes that held so much sadness that it threatened to take him out at the knees. And yet, he saw trust there. Taking Scott's hand, he led the boy into his office and sat him down on the couch, pulling up a seat across from him.

"I don't know what h-happened." Scott said suddenly. "I heard her…she told me to find her and…and I followed but she wasn't…she wasn't there and I…" He explained haltingly.

"Shhhh, it's okay." Stillinksi soothed. He could see how agitated Scott was becoming. "Who told you to find her?" he asked.

"Allison." Scott answered brokenly. Stillinski closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He should've known.

"Scott, Allison's gone. You know that." He said sadly.

"I…I know, but I keep seeing her!" Scott cried. "She's everywhere." Stillinski looked closely at the boy in front of him. He noticed the obvious signs of sleep deprivation right away. That same look had been painted on his son's face so many times.

"How have you been sleeping lately?" he asked. Scott shook his head.

"I can't." He said quietly.

"How many hours a night?"

"None." Stilinski's eye's windened.

"None?" he echoed. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since Wednesday." Scott admitted so quietly he almost didn't hear it. Stillinksi stared at Scott.

"That's six days." He said, appalled.

"I know."

"How are you even still on your feet?" Scott had no answer for that. Stillinski heaved a sigh. "Okay, tell you what. You stay here, I'll be right back, okay? We'll get this sorted out." He promised, giving Scott's leg a little squeeze. Then he stepped out to make three very important phone calls.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Stiles sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at his phone. Guilt and concern ate away at him. All week Scott had been off, but today…

Stiles had called Scott a dozen times and texted him twice as much. Predictably, there was no response. He couldn't help the nagging feeling that something was really, _really_ wrong. To everyone else, Scott seemed like he was calm and in control, but Stiles knew better. Now more than ever, he could see his friend's control slipping. He thought back to sophomore year, when being a werewolf was so new to Scott. He vividly remembered the full moons. Stress had always been a trigger for him. As the years went on, Scott got better at hiding it. Still, Stiles had watched as small cracks formed on his carefully built walls. Breaking up with Allison, thinking Derek had died, watching as the Nogitsune nearly killed his friend, losing Allison…that one had truly broken Scott down. Even before that, however, Stiles saw the signs. The memory of Scott standing in the desolate parking lot of the Glen Capri Motel, covered in gasoline and holding a burning flare, still terrified him. That night in the motel, Ethan, Isaac, and Boyd had all tried to kill themselves as well, but it had been different with them. The three of them hadn't said anything as they mindlessly tried to end their lives. Scott's painfully honest speech was different. Stiles often wondered if Scott really had meant it. Only three deaths were predicted that night, and yet Scott was the fourth. Ever since that incident, Stiles had kept a closer eye on Scott, watching and waiting just in case. Now, he feared, the moment he'd been waiting for had come. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Then he nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone rang.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Stiles parked badly outside the sheriff's station and raced inside, heart pounding wildly. He'd driven over as fast as his Jeep would allow as soon as he got the call from his father. He'd just known something was wrong. God, he hated being right. After taking a moment to compose himself outside the door, he stepped into his dad's office. He was immediately taken aback by the sight that greeted him. Scott was sitting on the small couch, his brown eyes looking up at him. They were wide and scared and full of sadness. Scott was shivering hard under the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and it made his lips tremble. In the brightly lit office, the circles beneath Scott's eyes stood out starkly against his ashen skin.

"Scott?" Stiles said softly, sitting down next to him. He pulled the blanket tighter around Scott's shoulders. "You ready to tell me what's going on with you?"

"I…I don't know. I d-don't know what's happening to me." Scott whispered, his eyes pleading for someone to understand. And Stiles did. All too well.

"Just start at the beginning, okay?" Stiles said with a small smile. Scott nodded jerkily and told him everything. Stiles listened quietly through it all. It certainly explained what had happened that morning.

"I don't know w-what's happening to me. Why do I keep seeing her? What if I can't protect the people who depend on me?" Scott asked when he had finished, his voice breaking slightly. Stiles put his hands on his friend's shoulders.

"You know, last year I was in the same position. I know how you feel. So I'm gonna tell you something your mom told me back then. Scott, you are on seriously sleep deprived young man. You need rest. You need it now." Stiles said, repeating the words Melissa had told him a lifetime ago.

"I've tried…I just…I can't. I can't sleep."

"I think I can help with that." Said a voice from the door. They glanced up to see Deaton there, holding a small vial and a syringe. Stillinski stood and shook his hand.

"Thanks for coming, Doc."

"Of course." Deaton said with his trademark easygoing smile. "Scott, I hear you've been having some problems sleeping." He said, stepping into the room. He sat in Stillinski's vacated seat. "This," he said, holding the vial up, "is something I developed years ago. It's a sedative that's made to work even with a werewolf's accelerated metabolism. It'll put you out for at least twelve hours, which is exactly what you need." Deaton's calm voice never wavered as he filled the syringe and inserted it into Scott's upper arm. He smiled kindly.

"Get some rest, Scott." To the others, he said, "He should be out in no more than twenty minutes." Stillinski thanked Deaton, then the doctor left.

"You called him?" Scott slurred, the drug starting to take effect.

"You bet I did." Was all the sheriff said as he and Stiles helped Scott up. "Come on, kiddo. Let's get you home."

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Melissa was waiting for them when they arrived. Stillinksi's call had terrified her. By that time, the drug had almost completely pulled Scott under. Together, Stiles and his father half-carried him inside. After quickly checking her son over and making sure he really was okay, she let Stiles take him up to his bedroom. Stiles gently helped Scott out of his wet clothes, then into some sweats and a t-shirt. With that done, he pulled the covers tight around Scott.

"You gonna be okay?" Stiles asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I can't protect them." Scott murmured tiredly. His eyes were closed.

"Scott, you can't save everyone. But you've already done so much. We're all still here, okay? We'll figure something out. We always do." Stiles said with more confidence than he felt.

"Promise?" Scott asked earnestly. Stiles squeezed his hand.

"Promise." Scott smiled and nestled deeper into the blankets.

"Stay." He whispered, his voice barely audible. After a moment, Scott's breathing evened out as the drug took full effect.

"Don't worry, buddy. I'm not going anywhere." Stiles replied, equally as soft. After all, he thought, it wouldn't be his first sleepless night.

 **Done! It's super late at night (Morning? My four month old isn't a fan of sleeping through the night.) but I think I caught all the spelling errors. If not, let me know and I'll fix them when I'm more awake!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Wow, so I totally intended to post something way sooner. Obviously that didn't happen and I feel super bad about it. Sorry! My son, now eleven months old, takes up most of my free time. But, I have time now!**

 **Summary: I wanted to write a little something for the season finale (5x20) so please, if you have not watched season 5 in its entirety, consider this your spoiler warning! I've made a few adjustments to the story for my benefit. Everything just ended way too easy!**

Scott McCall wanted to scream. He tried to, but his breath was stolen from him the moment Sebastien's claws tore into the back of his neck. The connection was immediate, intense, and _wrong_. It felt like a parasite worming its way into every corner of his mind. Scott hardly noticed as his legs began to falter. The pain in his head surpassed it by far. He could actually feel Sebastien, feel the Beast, probing his mind. Memories of Allison rose, unbidden, to the surface. Every flawless detail, as vivid the day she died. Images flashed by at a sickening speed. Her raven dark hair. The slight pout of her lips. The rough callouses from her bow on her otherwise soft hands. Every moment, from their first meeting to her final moments replayed in a matter of seconds. Sebastien seemed to latch on this.

"Marie-Jeanne." Scott barely heard the man's soft whisper over the roaring in his own ears. Sebastien stumbled backward, ripping his claws from Scott as he did so. Pain flared, white-hot and all consuming. As he fell against the wall and slid to the floor, Scott was dimly aware that Lydia and Kira had arrived. Then Lydia screamed, a powerful declaration of Mason's true identity. The blast of sound was too much for him and blackness came, and this time, Scott welcomed it.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

"Scott? Scott, can you hear me?"

"We need to get him out of here. Now. Take him to Deaton."

"Wait! I think he's coming around."

"Scott, you with us?"

Scott groaned softly. His body was a throbbing mass of pain. The voices that drifted just above him were familiar and undeniably urgent. He knew that he should try to find out why, but he simply lacked the energy. He was about to drift off again when a hand caressed his cheek. Soft, small, with a slight electric pulse. _Kira_ , his mind supplied. He leaned into the touch. It was so achingly familiar, something he'd missed for so long. Desperate to see her, he slowly blinked open his eyes. He sat slumped against the damp tunnel wall. Liam held a balled up sweatshirt to the back of his neck. Even so, Scott could feel the blood tricking down his back. Kira's dark eyes, full stress and worry, found his. He wanted to comfort her, to do something. He tried lifting his arm, but he barely got it to twitch. He looked around, confused. That's when he saw Parrish, singed and sooty. The memory of the fight slammed into him and questions flew through his mind. He tried to voice them, but he was simply too weak to do so. He looked around, pleading for answers.

"Shhhh, it's okay." Kira soothed gently. "Everyone's fine. The plan worked. We freed Mason. Sebastien's dead. Theo's been…taken care of. We won, Scott." Her words seemed to dissolve what little energy he had left and he let himself sag back completely, his eyes closing.

"Scott?" Liam asked nervously. "What's wrong with him? Why isn't he healing?"

"It's because of what Sebastien did." Lydia rasped, her voice little more than a whisper. "When he accessed his memories."

"Is he going to be okay?" Mason asked, almost guiltily. No one answered.

"Let's get him out of here. Deaton will know how to help him." Parrish said with more confidence than he felt.

As strong arms lifted him gently, Scott found little reason to remain consciousness. He slipped gratefully back into the welcoming darkness.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Scott woke to the sound of someone snoring softly nearby. As he slowly began to regain consciousness, he became aware of just how sore he was. Every single inch of his body was in pain. Even his hair hurt, if that was even possible. The worst of it seemed to be at the back of his neck. Stiffly, he reached back to feel. The moment his fingers came into contact with the bandage, he gasped and black spots danced in front of his eyes.

"Easy. I wouldn't do that just yet." Someone said from his right. A hand gently guided his arm back down the mattress. Scott blinked a few times to clear his vision. He was surprised to see that he was in his own bedroom.

"Stiles?" he whispered groggily.

"The one and only." Stiles replied with a small smile. He looked exhausted, but his smile was genuine.

"You…okay?" Scott croaked, gesturing to the bandage that peeked out from beneath his shirt. Stiles made a dismissive gesture.

"I'm fine. You, on the other hand, have been making us worry. Sebastien really did a number on you. Deaton said it's lucky that he didn't do more damage when he accessed you memories. For now, all he did was mess you up for a while. You've been out for a couple days, man. Any longer and I swear your mom was gonna call an ambulance." At the look on Scott's face, Stiles continued. "You're healing, don't worry. It's just going slower than normal. Hence, the bandage." Scott took a minute to process it all.

"Oh…so…we're okay? I mean, we're all alive?"

"Alive and accounted for." Stiles confirmed.

"Good." Scott said with a wince. The pain was starting to get worse. "That's good." Stiles frowned.

"Hey, you okay? You know, Liam's gonna be here in an about an hour, but I can call him now so he can take your pain."

"No…s'okay. I'll be fine." Scott said with a wince.

"You almost died, Scott." Stiles said quietly. "This never happens again." He declared after a moment. "No more secrets. If something happens, no matter what, we tell each other. We trust each other always, you and me. We never let it get this bad again, agreed?"

"I promise." Scott replied. Stiles squeezed his friend's shoulder carefully.

"Alright. It's settled then. Now, there are bunch of ladies downstairs who would just _love_ to know that you're awake."

"My mom's never letting me leave the house again, is she?"

"Pretty much. You ready?"

"Bring it on." Scott said, smiling. Stiles grinned back, with all the happiness and mischief of their childhood. For the first time in a very long time, everything felt right once more.

 **Hope you enjoyed it!**


End file.
